What The Ministry Doesn't Know
by WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo
Summary: Percy/Cedric pre-slash and twin bashing! Percy siphons off his most incriminating memories as he decides between family and a career in a Ministry run by Death Eaters.
1. Chapter 1 Treehouse

All characters and settings remain the property of JK Rowling.

THE JOURNAL OF PERCY I WEASLEY, MARCH 5TH 1998. 

"Nobody is neutral any more, Weasley. It's time to choose a side and stick to it."

This is my essential dilemma as it was presented to me this very afternoon by no less a person than the Minister himself. I stood in front of Minister Thicknesse's impressive mahogany desk and he sat behind it. I would go so far as to say that he lounged in a relaxed manner. This was not a formal meeting, but a chat between colleagues. I, of course, bowed and agreed with him.

He continued to speak, saying, "The question has been asked, Weasley, as to whether you are capable of loyalty to the current Ministry, given your family background."

I assured him that I no longer have any contact with my family and that I am thoroughly loyal to his administration.

"Good," he continued, "but are you loyal to those to whom the Ministry is loyal?" As he asked this question he gave the impression of serious contemplation.

I replied, "Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir. I am only interested in the … er …" I tried to think of a synonym for 'interests', having already used 'interested', but none came to mind, " … er … interests of the Ministry. Sir."

I was understandably proud when he replied that he had thought as much and that he himself had vouched for my trustworthiness. Those who had doubted me had, therefore, been silenced.

However, he added, "There will be checks. I am not supposed to warn you of this, but there will be Legilimens operating in this building as of next week. I've stuck my neck out for you, Weasley. Don't let me down. See to it that nothing will be found which could embarrass me."

I bowed again and promised him that my thoughts were already completely in line with current official thinking. He then dismissed me from his presence with a friendly wave of his hand and I backed out of the office with my head appropriately lowered.

I stood for a few moments in the corridor, breathing deeply and thinking clearly. My career is of the utmost importance to me. I am prepared to sacrifice anything in its pursuit. It will save me. There is no way any mind reader will find a scrap of family loyalty or fondness in me.

Because I shall hide it.

And anything else which it might be prudent to keep secret in the present political climate.

I returned to my desk in the Outer Office and assessed the dozen other clerks who are my immediate colleagues. Surely some of them would prove to be less loyal than myself. Each failure of theirs would put me in a better position for the next available promotion. In fact, some of my superiors might even fall foul of this Legilimancy campaign, thus creating opportunities for just such a promotion.

Minister Thicknesse and his administration demand absolute loyalty. And purity. My blood was checked earlier in the year. Two colleagues were found to have traces of Muggle blood and were demoted accordingly. But there are other types of purity. I shall have to be careful.

I worked with my usual diligence for the rest of the day, while half of my brain prepared a strategy for survival.

Mem #17, Treehouse, Ottery St Catchpole Without, late June 1986

It was a light late evening in summer. A slight breeze blew in the tops of the tallest trees of the copse, which was mostly planted with slim birches and short hollies. The exception was the old oak at the centre with the treehouse built into it.

A blond eight-year-old boy leaned excitedly out of the window cut into one side, withdrew quickly and re-appeared at the open end where the rope-ladder hung.

"Pull up the ladder, Cedric," someone calmer, but not much older, said from inside.

It was Percy, aged about nine, sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor and watching his friend. Cedric coiled the rope-ladder into one corner and then asked, "Can we do the torches now?"

Percy shook his head and then pushed his new glasses back up his nose. "They work with batteries," he explained, "and they'll run out of energy. We should save the torches for when it's properly dark and we really need them."

Cedric stood on one leg for a moment before going back to the window-hole. He gripped its edge and swung his feet, before leaping backwards and landing in the middle of the floor.

"Sit down, you're rocking it," Percy advised gently.

Cedric asked anxiously, "Is it going to break?" He sat down suddenly enough o make the thin wood vibrate again. "Will it fall down SMASH?" he clapped his hands together. "And we'll die in tiny pieces?"

"No, it's all safe. Dad's charmed it."

"But it's like a real Muggle treehouse?" Cedric demanded enthusiastically.

Percy nodded. He handed Cedric one of the sleeping bags and carefully laid out the other for himself. By the top he neatly placed his torch, book and bottle of water. He placed the 'midnight feast' tin in the centre of the floor. As Cedric made no move to copy him, he took back the other sleeping bag and laid it down by the opposite wall, parallel to his own.

"Did you see me at Sports Day, Percy?" Cedric asked. He looked avidly into the older boy's face, seeking approval. "I won everything and I didn't even magic the egg onto the spoon."

Percy grimaced. "I did magic mine and still came second to last. I hate Sports Day."

Cedric looked crest-fallen. "It's my favourite school day all year," he said. "You get to be good all the other days 'cos you're clever."

"I'm glad you beat the twins," Percy offered. "And I bet they cheated at everything!"

Cedric was mollified. "I was partner with George for three-legged and he wanted to do a spell-thing on our shoes and I wouldn't let him," he said proudly.

"Good for you. Rules are there for a reason."

"I wish it was you in my class, not them," Cedric huffed after a brief thought.

Percy said, "If I were a month younger and you were a month older we would have been in the same class. It would have been good. It's lonely being the only one from a Magic family. You can't properly be friends with people when there's so much you can't talk about to them."

"I can't properly be friends with Fred and George so it's a bit the same," Cedric sympathised.

"Shall we get into our sleeping bags now?" Percy suggested. They did.

"Where's your rat?" Cedric asked.

"Back in my room. With Ron. He'll be fine."

"Good. I don't want him running over my face in the night. When do we have our midnight feast?"

"Midnight," Percy answered.

"How do we know when it's midnight?"

Percy cast a _Tempus_: 9.15pm.

"That's cheating! We're being Muggles!" Cedric complained, "I didn't even bring my wand. How long is that before midnight?"

They didn't make it to midnight. Cedric persuaded Percy to bend the rules and the feast was eaten, the torches played with and the boys asleep by eleven o'clock.

In the pitch dark of the middle of the moonless night, Percy was woken by a sliding, shuffling noise.

"What's there?" he asked, panicked.

"Cedric."

The noise continued and turned out to be the sound of a sleeping bag inching over wooden planks. It came to a halt beside Percy and he felt the hard warmth of a leg against his own.

"I'm not scared," Cedric said.

Percy didn't reply, he just wriggled his shoulder up to his friend's and they both went back to sleep.

THE JOURNAL OF PERCY I WEASLEY, MARCH 5TH 1998. 

NOTE TO SELF: DO NOT READ THE FOLLOWING.

This evening as usual I returned alone to my bedsit. It is not a large place and the furnishings and décor are not as I would have chosen them, nor is the landlord enthusiastic about carrying out the necessary repairs; however, I keep it clean and it is a mere stepping stone. In time I will have a very comfortable life.

I locked the door and warded it, then checked the room for spying devices and temporarily sound-proofed it. It is safest to be a little paranoid.

On my way home from work I had effected the purchase of a particular item consisting of a leather case containing a collection of glass vials. Naturally, I have no access to a _Pensieve_, but that is unimportant. I neither intent to view these memories nor to pass them to anyone else for viewing. Indeed, some will be destroyed. Most, however, will be stored safely until the war is over, and then replaced, should that be a prudent course of action in whatever circumstances we find ourselves at that time.

Yes, I am aware that there is a war on. Denial disappeared when Scrimgeour did. The Ministry has clearly fallen to Death Eaters. I was surprised by how many of them were already working there. But I have stayed.

I put my wand to my head, carefully withdrew a silver thought and captured it in the first vial, which I stoppered and labelled: "Mem #1, Quidditch World Cup campsite, afternoon, August 1994."

I repeated the process. I have spent the rest of this evening siphoning off every memory which I would prefer to keep secret from my employers. Before I retire I shall remove and destroy the memory of this night's work.

NOTE TO SELF: DO NOT READ THE PRECEEDING.


	2. Chapter 2 Twins

JK Rowling wrote all the wonderful Harry Potter books. She owns the rights to them.

Mem # 32, The Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole Without, October 1983

A bedroom for two children: near the door a three-year-old Ron lay in bed, hugging his teddy. He blinked, not quite awake yet, at the grey morning light seeping through the thin curtains.

On the other side of the room, the tidy side, seven-year-old Percy muttered the sticking charm and carefully attached another shell to his model of an owl. It was nearly finished. The shells he'd collected over the summer and sorted into groups by colour and size, lay in careful piles on the floor between the two beds, near to the patch where the carpet had worn down to the floor boards.

And then the door flew open and the peace was gone; the twins moved quickly. George sprang at Percy, roaring into his face and blocking his view as Fred leaned over little Ron's bed.

"Get out! You're not allowed!" Percy screamed in impotent fury, scrabbling to try to save his shell collection.

The terrified scream of a small child filled the room. Percy pushed the laughing George out of the way, to get to his youngest brother. A huge, black spider lay over Ron's face and chest. With Fred trying to swipe away his hands to stop him, Percy threw the disgusting oversized arachnid to the floor.

Then he picked up tiny, shaking, red-faced Ron and wrapped his arms around him. He sat down on the bed and muttered some nonsense about how everything would be all right. Fred and George were bent double with laughter, like Ron they had tears running down their faces. Ron pushed his face into Percy's shoulder and made strange choking, snuffling sounds. Percy tried to rock him from side to side the way he'd seen their mother do with Ginny.

Percy whispered, "I'll look after you, Ron. Don't be scared."

The twins heard and laughed harder.

The sounds of their mother's voice and heavy footsteps came from the stairs. Fred and George looked at each other. Fred shot for the door but, before George ran away, he looked straight into Percy's face, sniggered and stamped on his model owl.

THE JOURNAL OF PERCY I WEASLEY, MARCH 6TH 1998. 

The Ministry, or the organisation currently behind the Ministry (being He Who Must Not Be Named and his Death Eaters) has employed three Legilimens in total. They patrol the offices alternately employing random spot-checks and systematic departmental investigations.

I was the subject of a random spot-check in the lift this afternoon. A man previously unknown to me, of aristocratic bearing and dressed in magenta, suddenly took hold of my chin in his strong hand. He then stared deeply into my eyes. It was almost as though he were about to kiss me, which would, of course, have been both absurd and inappropriate.

He seemed to be satisfied by what he found in my thoughts. This was unsurprising as I have only Ministry-approved thoughts. It has subsequently occurred to me, however, that it may be possible to bring to the fore - that is to say, highlight - those memories and opinions of which the current regime might particularly approve.

I could achieve this by concentrating on memories which throw a damning light on my relationship with the other Weasleys. The first occasion which comes to mind is the argument with my father which resulted in my leaving home.

Minister Fudge had just appointed me to his personal office. This was news of which I was rightly proud and which I hoped would provoke the same emotion in my parents. This promotion was recognition for the competent manner in which I had deputised for Mr Crouch the previous year.

It now seems likely that my superior that year had, in fact, been under the Imperious Curse and had not been having a nervous breakdown after all. My failure to observe any strangeness in Mr Crouch's behaviour does not therefore reveal any weakness on my part. The power of _Imperious _comes from the fact that it is famously difficult to detect.

Minister Fudge believed that Mr Crouch was suffering from insanity, but did not blame me for continuing to accept the man's authority. He was impressed by the loyalty to the Ministry I displayed in my continued willingness to follow the orders of my Head of Department without question. He also recognised my organisational abilities.

This was not how my deluded father chose to view the situation. He was cynical and insulting, not to say ego-centric, in his suggestion that my new position was no more than a ruse through which Minister Fudge intended to spy on him. This showed me beyond doubt that Arthur Weasley has no faith in my abilities.

My father's lack of both ambition and application had already condemned me to a childhood of near-poverty. His lack of attention had enabled an uninterrupted bullying campaign by two, no three, of my brothers. Their belittling and physical abuse of me was either ignored or condoned by the other members of the family.

I was forced to protect my own future and could not afford to be dragged down again by his peculiar opinions.

I enlightened my father as to his worthlessness and pointlessness. In turn he ranted nonsense at me until I was forced to flee the family home. It was a relief. I miss none of them. My mother tried to send me one of her appalling, spend-thrift, home-made jumpers at Christmas. I returned it. That would be another good recollection on which to focus.

At the appropriate time I can conjure my most powerful feelings of hatred towards the Weasleys very simply. I shall think about Fred and George. They demeaned all my achievements, destroyed my few possessions, deliberately injured me and made me the butt of their jokes. I fervently wish that they had never been born.

Only one boy in each year is chosen to be Head Boy. I was. That must mean that I am the most well-regarded wizard of my age. I was denied any praise for that and was mocked for my understandable pride in my position. They called me 'Bighead Boy' and altered my badge of office so that it read 'Humongous Bighead'.

This was viewed as a joke by the rest of the family.

NOTE TO SELF: Consider changing surname? To what?

Mem # 8, The Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole Without, early January 1986

The sky was white and heavy, the yard covered in dirty slush; Percy lay sprawled, face down. Charlie pulled back the foot with which he had tripped him. The twins laughed until they choked.

Four tiny red Wellington boots ran splashing forward.

Two of them were worn by four-year-old Ginny who stamped one and started to scream, "You don't do that! Poor Percy! You are three horrible boys who are not my brothers any more!"

The other two were Ron's. He quietly handed Percy his broken glasses.

Charlie tried to answer his sister, but she didn't give him the room, continuing, "Only bad wizards hurt people on purpose. How would you like it? It's only 'cos he's cleverer and gooder than you …"

The twins stopped laughing. Ron put out his hand and helped Percy to stand up. He squeezed the hand and did not let go. Percy wiped the slush off his face with his other hand.

"… I'll tell Mum and you big bullies will be in big trouble. And I'll tell Bill and he won't think it's funny!"

Ron reached up and pulled a frozen chicken dropping from Percy's hair. They walked into the house together.

Ginny's voice was still clear behind them: "He'll say 'Charlie grow up!' and Father Christmas will take back all your fudge and give you coal!"

She stomped in after Percy and Ron.

Fred's giggles started up again, quickly joined by George's and Charlie's.


	3. Chapter 3 Towels

JK Rowling wrote all the wonderful Harry Potter books. She owns the rights to them.

Mem 21, The Meadow, Ottery St Catchpole Without, December 1982

It was a muddy field under a grey sky. In the middle of it was a melèe of boy, balls and brooms. Percy aged six sat at the edge of the meadow on a fallen branch. Their excited shouting was distorted by the wind by the time it reached him. Scabbers tried to run up his sleeve and got himself pulled out by the tail. Percy placed him on his shoulder.

Most of the boys were red-heads under the mud, one was blond. He flew as well as either of the older boys, Percy smiled when he saw that. Cedric's broom was new and shiny. He had a couple of splashes of mud on his face (which Percy would have hated himself) but at least he wasn't caked like most of the Weasleys.

The twins had abandoned their shared broom to chase the balls - and each other - with sticks. Dodging the mayhem in just his nappy, the Ron was laughing and splashing unconcerned. Bill was supposed to be watching Ron, but he was more interested in practicing flying while throwing up a ball and catching it. Nothing had hit the toddler yet, but he was incredibly messy. Charlie was showing off with feints and dives. Cedric was copying him. Percy frowned when he saw that.

Percy focussed on his pet, only looking over occasionally. Suddenly there was a movement on the field, a change of direction accompanied by a roaring war cry and a frightened scream. Percy watched as Fred and George chased Charlie and Cedric with their sticks. Charlie abandoned the younger boy to soar into the air. Bill, belatedly, turned his attention to protecting Ron and Cedric turned to zoom towards Percy.

Percy leaped up to stand on his log, stuffing Scabbers safely into a pocket. The twins' expressions were feral and Cedric's was terrified. As soon as Cedric got close enough, Percy grabbed his hands and pulled him behind his back. The blond five-year-old dropped his broom and clung to Percy's back. Percy yelled at the twins, "Don't you dare! You little monsters! I'll tell Mum. You said you wouldn't be horrible!"

Then two sticks hit Percy across the face and he toppled backwards, landing on Cedric.

The scene shifted to the bathroom at The Burrow. The bath was full of soapy, muddy water and little Ron and baby Ginny were splashing and screaming happily in it. Cedric and Percy sat on the lid of the toilet. Scabbers kept up an agitated scurry along Percy's shoulders and back again. Molly knelt in front of them, dabbing ointment onto their scratched faces, arms, legs and delivering a tirade: … don't know what your mother will think of us, Cedric. Those two, behaving like animals. They will be severely punished, I can assure you. I thought Charlie knew better than to fly off and leave you facing them. Next time, fly upwards like he did. The twins aren't good fliers. Not that there'll be a next time. I've told them, you're an only child, you're not used to this sort of rough-housing. They can't seem to control themselves. I don't know what use you thought Percy would be, there's no point in going running to him, I mean flying to … what was that?" She drew breath as a crash rang out from downstairs. "What have they broken now?" she huffed despairingly while she summoned two towels, snatched Ginny from the tub, wrapped her in one, tucked her under one arm and swiftly repeated the process with Ron. As she left the room she called behind her, "You two had better get in that bath now, you're both filthy!"

Percy obediently started to remove his clothes, folding them before placing them in the laundry basket. He was down to his greyish underpants and vest before he noticed that Cedric wasn't moving. Cedric looked anxious.

"They won't come in here, Mum's got them," Percy reassured.

Cedric nodded, looked into the brown water and then at Percy. Percy collected his wand from the window sill and tapped the side of the bath with it, while muttering a spell. The water became clear.

"Wow!" Cedric said.

Percy dipped his head and smiled. "I taught myself that one. It comes in handy here." He took off his underwear and got in the water. "It's OK now. What's the matter? Do you like being muddy?"

Cedric pulled a face. He wouldn't look at Percy. He whispered, "I've never had a bath with anybody else before."

Percy exclaimed, "I've never had a bath on my own! I'm so jealous!" Cedric looked at his own feet. "I'm sorry," Percy said, "Mum's right, there's no point running to me when you need to be rescued. I'm not very strong and I fall over a lot."

"But I trust you," Cedric answered. "You're not noisy and rough like your brothers."

"You'd better get in. Mum might be cross if you don't do what she said. We can play boats," Percy offered.

Cedric looked to be weighing things up. Then he slunk into a corner and undressed. Percy didn't watch. There was a swoosh of moving water. Percy looked over to his friend's tense face. Scabbers skittered along the rolled top of the bath, his claws fighting for purchase on the shiny enamel.

"Boats!" Percy called, waving his arms, and half a dozen home-made vessels in tin and wood came clattering down from shelves into the water.


	4. Chapter 4 Trunks

JK Rowling wrote all the wonderful Harry Potter books. She owns the rights to them.

THE JOURNAL OF PERCY I WEASLEY, MARCH 28TH 1998.

The atmosphere at work is now close to unbearable. There is no longer any trust between colleagues. I know that any one of them would unhesitatingly destroy me in order to save themselves. As I would them. I have overheard fellows in my office saying that everyone has a vice or weakness and that these should be used as levers. After some self-examination, it would appear that I do not. Which is a little un-nerving.

The pace of the flow of Muggle-borns down to the courts on the lower floors has abated. There can be few left unregistered. Many are now in Azkaban or have died trying to escape their fate. Of course I celebrate this. Of course I do. My blood is pure. I am safe.

With the Mudbloods under control, the Authorities are turning their attention to other undesirable groups: squibs, vampires, sexual deviants, half-breeds. I am determined to support the government whatever their actions. I have no choice. They are my only source of protection.

My loyalty is still questioned by some of those in power. I hope to silence these doubters when the Legilimens undertake their investigations in my department. I wish they would hurry up and reach our floor. There is little preparation I can undertake. I can only fret impotently. It is like awaiting exam results.

There remains the problem of Penelope Clearwater. Her blood status is well known. Not only is her name on the register, but she was singled out for attack by the Basilisk. Unfortunately my previous attachment to her is also well known.

It is fortunate, given current Government thinking, that our relationship petered out in a most unpleasant and acrimonious way. Indeed, I am now unable to recall a single pleasant moment spent in her company. When she was in a state of petrifaction I had been worried about her, but there were times afterwards that I considered such a condition to have been preferable.

Like my brothers, she found my ambitiousness a source of humour. She enjoyed undermining my hard-won confidence. She even used the word 'pompous' when she was cross with me.

With hind-sight I am able to attribute our difficulties with physical intimacy to her Muggle blood. As I had been raised by Blood Traitors, they had failed to explain to me the natural defence mechanism which the body of a Pureblood wizard employs in order to avoid an unhealthy union.

She chose to find other explanations for my 'failures'. Some of these referred to my more delicate, less muscular physique. Others involved vile, impure desires which she liked to imagine I entertained. I have no memory of having experienced sexual desire for anyone other than a Pureblood witch.

Mem 4, Wembury Beach, August 1988

It was a gloriously sunny day on a sandy beach in a sheltered bay. The place was packed full of local Muggles, tourist Muggles, the Diggories and Percy. Mr and Mrs Diggory lay dozing on brightly-coloured towels, sheltered by a large umbrella stuck in the sand. Cedric had a shiny new red bucket and spade set and Percy directed him as he built a sand Hogwarts Castle.

"The Astronomy tower is in the middle. It's the tallest and it's got a flat roof."

"I got an Astronomy book in Diagon Alley last week. And a new wand and an owl and robes and a new broom!" Cedric announced excitedly.

"You got everything brand new?" Percy asked, adding sharply, "First Years aren't allowed brooms."

Cedric's swimming trunks looked new, too. Percy's were washed out, patched and a bit big.

"Where's the Quidditch pitch?" Cedric asked.

Percy sulkily indicated it with his foot. "I won't have children 'til I can afford to buy them everything new. I'm going to get a good job that pays well. Like your Dad. My Dad's useless, he's got no ambition."

"I like your Dad. He's funny."

"I'd rather be taken seriously," Percy replied. "Was your Dad a Prefect?"

Cedric shook his head. "But he was Hufflepuff Quidditch captain. D'you think I'll be in Hufflepuff?" he asked, an anxious note to his voice.

"Don't you want to be in Gryffindor like me?" Percy sounded hurt.

"Fred and George might be Gryffindors," Cedric muttered.

"They should be Slytherins!" Percy declared. "Slytherins are horrible. Hufflepuffs are all right. But I want us to have the same common room." Percy indicated Cedric's complex sand construction, saying "That looks done to me."

Cedric picked up a small, smooth stone and moved it in little jumps up the steps and in through the front door.

"That's me," he said, "going to the Hall after Quidditch practice."

"Are you looking forward to going?" Percy asked.

"Yeah, you make it sound brilliant."

The two friends grinned at each other.

Cedric jumped up, shouting, "Let's go rock climbing!"

He ran down the beach and Percy walked after him. Where the bay curved out of sight, a series of rocks stuck out of the water. The waves broke round them, splashing white foam into the air. Cedric sat on one of the rocks, waiting for Percy, his feet in the water. His seat was covered in slimy green weed and sharp little barnacles. Percy eyed it unsurely.

Cedric laughed and stretched an arm to the older boy. "I'll make sure you don't fall off!"

Percy grasped the proffered hand and let himself be pulled up. A big wave rolled by. He tried to wipe the spray off his glasses. They clambered steadily until they were out of sight of the beach, Cedric relaxed and chattering, Percy concentrating on his movements.

Cedric asked, "What are the girls like at Hogwarts? Are they pretty? Or are they a bit too clever? Have you ever kissed any of them?" He turned his head back for Percy's answer, which was a simple shake of the head. Cedric continued, "I've kissed four girls."

Percy's frown deepened. He said nothing.

"Haven't you ever kissed anyone?" Cedric asked.

Percy looked at his feet, shook his head again and sat down on a fairly large rock. Cedric sat himself next to him and they looked out over the sea. One wispy blue cloud skittered its way across the blue sky.

After a silence, Percy asked, "What's it like? Kissing?"

Cedric looked behind him. The curve of the headland hid them from the beach completely.

"Like this," he answered, holding Percy by the shoulders and pressing their mouths together for a few seconds.

A wave broke over the rock they were sitting on and splashed them. Cedric put a hand on the cliff behind to steady them both.

"What's the most boring subject?" Cedric asked. "That History of Magic book is really heavy but I didn't like the look of all those lists in the Potions one, either."

Percy blinked, then replied slowly, "Potions is quite interesting, actually, but the teacher doesn't like Gryffindors."

"Why not? What about Hufflepuffs?" Cedric asked, taking his hand from Percy's shoulder and returning his gaze to the horizon.

Percy stared at the blond boy as he gave a halting explanation about Snape, the dungeons and House Points.


	5. Chapter 5 Trouble

JK Rowling wrote all the wonderful Harry Potter books. She owns the rights to them.

Mem 24, The Burrow, Late July 1987

Percy clutched scorched pieces of paper and squeezed his lips together. A tear slid down his nose nonetheless. He was sitting on his bed. It was daytime, summer, he was nearly eleven.

The bedroom door was knocked and opened. In walked a tall sixteen-year-old with his red hair in a pony tail: Bill.

"What did they do this time?" Bill asked, resigned.

Percy just held up his hands full of book fragments. Bill pulled his wand from the back pocket of his black jeans and cast _Reparo_. The pieces began the complicated task of mending and rearranging.

"Try not to let it upset you so much," Bill urged. "It encourages them." He sat on the bed next to his younger brother. "It's only fun for them because you always react. It is only a book."

Percy shook his head, his mouth still firmly bitten shut. The mending was nearly complete and he pulled the book towards them, opened the front cover.

Inside was a white oval sticker. Across the top in square letters was printed 'Ottery St Catchpole County Primary School', under that, in fancy italic it said 'This prize is presented to … for achieving second place in the end of final year academic tests'. His name and the year were hand-written in meticulous calligraphy.

Bill sighed, "Not just a book, then. Sorry." He put an arm round Percy's shoulders and Percy's nose started to run. He pressed his eyelids together.

"It's jealousy, Percy …" Bill started, to be interrupted by a dry, bitter laugh. Bill tried again: "Mum was so proud. It's bound to annoy them. They never do well at anything." Then he amended, "Not without cheating."

"But they don't want to be clever or good. They think I'm pathetic for wanting people to think well of me, for doing what the teachers say. And 'cos I can't do sports. They destroy all my stuff and all Mum ever does is shout at them a bit. But she's always doing that anyway so they don't care. I hate Fred and I hate George and I wish they weren't my brothers! I wish they were …"

Bill clamped both hands over Percy's mouth, damming the torrent of words and tears. "Don't wish them dead," Bill whispered, "you're a wizard. You need to be careful. Think how awful you'd feel if it happened."

Percy nodded. Bill let go of him and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, with which he wiped his little brother's face. It smelled like Bill and Charlie coming home - smelled like Hogwarts.

"You sh-shouldn't have repaired it," Percy stuttered anxiously. "You're not allowed to do magic out of school. Not 'til next year. Mum should …"

"Mum's got enough to do."

Scabbers appeared then. He scampered across the room and climbed up Percy's trouser leg. He lay in the boy's lap and Percy calmed himself by stroking him.

"Only a few months," Bill reassured him, "then you'll be rid of them for most of the year. You'll be with me and Charlie. I know Charlie can be a bit of a pain, but he's hardly in their league. You'll love Hogwarts. It'll suit you. You'll do well in all the subjects. You can make proper friends, with other clever wizards your own age. And the food's always good - no sandwich suppers at the end of the month 'cos the money ran out. But best of all, no Fred and George!"

Percy nodded and swallowed. He pressed his good-as-new book prize and his rat to his chest.

"Look, Percy, we'll be the winners in the long run. When you're grown up it doesn't matter who's good at sports, or makes people laugh, or knows more swear words. We've worked hard and behaved ourselves. We'll get the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s and get to be Prefects and then we'll get the good jobs, lots of money, respect from people. We'll be the ones who are happy. It's our revenge. What will they live on? Practical jokes?"

Percy laughed.

THE JOURNAL OF PERCY I WEASLEY, APRIL 12TH 1998. 

I was called in to Minister Thicknesse's office again today. Once again, he lounged in a relaxed manner in a comfortable chair behind the enormous desk which I hope one day to sit behind myself. He grinned broadly today. I stood to attention, as is appropriate.

I glowed with pride when he told me that he was very pleased with me. I was not, however, surprised. Why should he feel otherwise? My behaviour is exemplary.

"You came through clean," he added. "I don't know how you did it, but it must have been some pretty clever work. Not a single disloyal or inappropriate thought was found in your head. You want to tell me how you managed that?"

"I believe in everything for which the Ministry stands, sir," I assured him by way of an answer.

He gave a strange, low chuckle then. "But you were Dumbledore's pet. He made you Head Boy. And your Blood Traitor family were all in his little gang. Wasn't your youngest brother mates with the Chosen To Die One?" he laughed at his own joke. I, naturally, followed suit. Then he narrowed his eyes and I became serious also. "The Legilimens found nothing to link you to any of that."

"My late Headmaster formed his own opinion of me, unrelated to my feelings towards him, to which he was not privy. I am my own man. My only interest is in serving my Government."

"And advancing your career?" he asked.

I merely nodded. Any more would have been superfluous.

He continued, shaking his head, "I wish I could clean my mind out the way you've cleaned yours. I'm impressed."

I have no idea what he can have meant by that.

He picked up a page of notes, which he scanned. My name was at the top of the paper. I assume it to have been the report on my examination by the Legilimens yesterday. That was when the inspection of my Department occurred. Each of us stood in front of our desk and the three men in magenta moved among us.

Each in turn, we had our chins held and our thoughts investigated through our eyes. Despite having had my previous experience in the lift, and having immediately previously observed several colleague undergoing this procedure, yet again when the man leaned towards me with such intent I had to bite my lips together. I do not have a wealth of experience at situations involving kissing, but his action was strongly reminiscent of such moments.

I concentrated on thoughts of the twins, on my embarrassment at my family's poverty and then on the acrimonious conclusion to my relationship with Clearwater. This, it turns out, was a truly brilliant technique.

Minister Thicknesse read through my notes with a calculating expression and I stood still, breathing easily for some moments. When he put down the paper, he regarded me with a look which, from another man, might have been regarded as a leer. It made me feel excited. I was, of course, excited to be receiving attention and praise from the most powerful man in the country. Well, the second most powerful, I suppose.

"I like you, Weasley," he said. I expect my pale skin betrayed my gratification with a blush. He added, "You have great potential. I am going to share with you the secret of my success."

A prize indeed! I leaned towards him, expectantly.

"There is one thing which has earned me this position above all others," he said. "Do you know what that thing is, Percy?"

I merely shook my head. The question was clearly a rhetorical device.

"It is this," he said.

I expected him to impart some piece of advice or knowledge, some verbal leg-up. Instead he rolled up his left sleeve. I was not shocked to see that he had one, but I was unable to prevent a physical reaction to the sight of his Dark Mark. I started back. This was probably due to some unfortunate residual instinct implanted during my childhood.

He seemed to enjoy my reaction. "Yes, it's a powerful thing. There are only a few of us who have one. We will be the ones placed in influential jobs. We will have the power and the money."

He paused, leaving his bare forearm on the polished wood between us. I leant forward to look at it properly. The skull and snake motif was burned into the very fabric of his skin.

"You're ambitious, Percy, and ruthless. Looks like you're bloody clever, too. You should be in a leadership position in the future."

While I was flattered, I tried to evaluate what his meaning might be.

Then, very softly, he asked, "Would you like one of these?" My mouth went dry. "I could put your name forward. I won't hold it against you if you're too frightened, but to deny yourself this advantage would be to deny yourself any hope of promotion. What is your initial reaction?"

"What an honour!" I managed to gasp out, but I was glad that there was nobody there who could read my thoughts then.

"And a responsibility," he qualified. "It requires sacrifices and commitment. This is not a decision to be rushed. I will ask you again in a month's time."

I was dizzy. Luckily, he dismissed me and I backed out of his office.

I could not walk as far as my desk, merely sinking to my haunches in the corridor.

Some strange superstition holds me back. The best jobs all go to Death Eaters these days. I should be thrilled at such an opportunity for advancement. But something stays me, makes me want to run from this reward.

I wish I could remember why my parents were opposed to The Dark Lord. It would inform this decision. Strangely, I have great difficulty in recalling anything much at all from my childhood.


	6. Chapter 6 Tome

JK Rowling wrote all the wonderful Harry Potter books. She owns the rights to them.

THE JOURNAL OF PERCY I WEASLEY, APRIL 27TH 1998. 

I am disappointed to hear confirmation that my brother, Ronald, is in the company of Harry Potter. There were rumours that this was the case a couple of weeks ago, rumours to which I was privy, being so close to the more senior Ministry officials. These rumours coincided with the disappearance of other Weasley family members. I had sight of a memo ordering the detention of Arthur, Molly, William, Frederick and George Weasley. I did not allow myself to react to this news.

Yesterday, Ronald, young Potter and the mudblood Granger were involved in a messy raid on the bank vault of an influential family. I have given my younger brother plenty of warnings and advice regarding the so-called Chosen One. It seems that he continues to ignore me. It is now too late. I wash my hands of him.

Just because some fluke of Magic caused a spell to backfire when the boy was still in nappies, Potter regards himself as some kind of guerrilla. The chances are that his luck will not hold indefinitely and even if he himself is somehow charmed, such protection will hardly extend to his companions.

The Muggle-born is unimportant, but Ron is the result of generations of sensible siring decisions. H should protect his blood. Our blood. He is as reckless as our father. There was a time when I had hopes for Ronald. It would appear, however, that he is as foolish and fool-hardy as the twins and Charlie. And why should I care about him anyway? I can remember no occasion on which he has shown any concern for me.

Actually, I can remember very little of my childhood. I wonder why that should be?

Mem# 3, Hogwarts School, November 1991

Percy strode purposefully through a corridor of the school. The brightness of the lighting inside the school, and the blackness of the night out, meant that he was reflected clearly in a tall window as he approached it. He straightened his Prefect Badge and pushed his glasses back up his nose.

He turned to inspect the long corridor to his left, spotting two students who should have been in their Common Rooms, and marched towards them. They leaned against the wall, limbs wrapped around each other, mouths pressed together, hands exploring bodies. The boy broke away briefly for air and it was Cedric.

Percy froze. He took deep breaths to calm himself, but the colour rising in his cheeks betrayed him. He resumed his walk, calling out: "Back to your Common Rooms, you two. No public displays of affection in the corridors!"

The couple sprang apart. The dark-skinned girl hurriedly adjusted her clothing and smoothed her hair. She looked suitably embarrassed.

Cedric, on the other hand, leaned lazily against the wall and said, casually, "Come on, Perce! Give me a break. Just patrol in the other direction. Turn a blind eye. Who'll know?"

"Ten points from Hufflepuff!" Percy snapped in reply.

Cedric straightened up and stared at him in disbelief. Then he narrowed his eyes and sneered, "You're just jealous 'cos nobody wants to snog you in a corridor after hours!"

They squared up to each other. Although younger, Cedric was already slightly taller than Percy. The girl watched nervously.

"Give me my points back and you can have a turn," Cedric offered.

Percy answered haughtily, "I have no desire to kiss her."

Cedric leaned forward and hissed straight into Percy's ear, "That's not what I meant and you know it."

Percy pulled back sharply. He turned on his heel and marched crisply away.

"Bastard!" Cedric shouted after him.

Without looking behind him, Percy replied, "Another ten points for swearing at a Prefect!"

THE JOURNAL OF PERCY I WEASLEY, APRIL 29TH 1998. 

The Minister has been spending an increasing amount of time away from the office in important meetings. I assume that these have been with his political allies and that some will have involved him immediate superior.

I am an idiot. There is no point any more thinking in such code and euphemism. I'm not in denial any more. The time for neutrality and vacillation has passed. These are the facts: The Ministry is now under the direct control of He Who Must Not Be Named. All of those still employed here, including myself, are working on the side of Darkness.

On that understanding, I shall begin this journal entry again:

Pius Thicknesse, a loyal Death Eater, to whom the Dark Lord has given the position of Minister For Magic, has been away from the office. He has been having meetings with his fellow Death Eaters on the subjects of the War against the Light and the plan to destroy Harry Potter. He has met with Lord V … You Know Who at least twice this month.

There. At least I have been honest with myself, even if I am too terrified to even write the name of my ultimate superior. I am very scared. I need to admit that to myself as well. I have put myself in a position where I am reliant on the good will of dangerous people.

I don't want to be a Death Eater. I don't want to have to hurt people. But I may have no choice. To accept will not make me safe, but to refuse would display disloyalty to these frightening people. I do not want to die.

I have attempted to compete in subtle cunning with those who are natural Slytherins. Of course I have failed. In the attempt, it would seem, I have lost whatever integrity and bravery I once possessed which caused me to be sorted into Gryffindor in the first place.

When the Minister returned from one of these meetings this afternoon, he was accompanied by a man whom I vaguely recognised. My memory is terrible these days! A message had been sent ordering me to await his return in his office. When the two men Flooed in I was standing to attention by the door.

Minister Thicknesse smiled when he saw me, saying, "Weasley! Good! I wanted you to witness this. I hope you're still thinking hard about my proposal!"

He has said this to me at least once a day since he showed me his Dark Mark. I think about little else, needless to say. I simply nodded as usual.

The other man, who had long, pale hair and looked to be in his forties, moved in front of the Minister and started to say, "Pius, just give me …"

"Minister Thicknesse to you, Malfoy, and wait 'til you're spoken to!" Mr Thicknesse snarled.

Mr Malfoy looked angry, but did not answer and took a step back. I think he may have been a School Governor. There was a boy in Slytherin called Malfoy.

The Minister sat down and turned his attention back to me. "Weasley, this is Lucius Malfoy. He's my errand boy for the day. He's notoriously incompetent, though, so we'll have to keep an eye on him."

I did not know how I was supposed to react. I heard Malfoy's teeth grinding on the other side of the room. Mr Thicknesse reached into one of the drawers in his lovely desk and removed an ancient-looking, leather-bound book. The Dark Magic fairly crackled off it. This may have been only my imagination which has been decidedly fevered of late. For all I know, the tome contained his mother's fairy cake recipes.

He passed the book to the blond man, saying, "See if your whelp can manage to recognise Alecto and pass this on to him."

Whatever that meant, it made Mr Malfoy fume.

Looking at me, the Minister said, "Two lessons, Weasley." He picked up a full bottle of green ink from his desk top and poured the contents onto the floor where Malfoy was standing. Some of it splashed on his expensive-looking shoes. He did not flinch. Thicknesse continued, "First, be careful who you kick on the way up the ladder, because you don't know how you'll meet them on the way back down. Lucius! Clean that up! A simple cleaning spell should do it. Silly me! Of course, you can't be trusted with a wand any more. You'll have to do it the Muggle way. Hands and knees. Your cloak can be your cloth!"

He actually did it! Lucius Malfoy, who I had judged to be the most arrogant kind of aristocrat, took off his good quality cloak, dropped to the floor and dabbed it at the ink-soaked carpet. I fear my shock must have shown because the Minister turned his attention back to me.

"Percy, I don't want you to make your decision based on false assumptions. Lucius! Roll up your left sleeve," the Minister ordered, without even looking at him.

With the deep sigh of a man whose temper is barely contained, Malfoy put down his cloak and displayed his Dark Mark to me.

Thicknesse smirked and then barked, "Back to work. Boy!" In a civilised tone, he said to me, "Lesson two. If you fail to please our Lord, then possession of his Mark will not save you from punishment. Lucius here is enduring this humiliation because he knows that if he complains, he and his family will suffer physically. Don't decide to take the Mark because you think it will make you safe."

At this, Malfoy looked up and exclaimed, "Pius! It's a Weasley! I mean, Minister Thicknesse I wonder whether you have considered that your assistant's family have been Blood Traitors for centuries and that this might make his inclusion as a fellow Death Eater inappropriate."

After allowing him to finish speaking, the Minister said, coldly, "I don't remember asking your opinion."

There was a silence, during which the man on the floor continued to mop up ink, while glancing slyly from myself to the Minister and back. Eventually he snorted and said something most peculiar.

"I'm surprised that you'd leave temptation like that lying around."

This nonsense made Minister Thicknesse more angry than I have ever seen him. Grabbing Malfoy by the collar, he shouted in his face, "You know full well I was cured. You think he'd have made me Minister otherwise?"

Malfoy quickly apologised and he was released. He stood up then, though and there was a smirk on his face when he qualified his apology with, "It's just that he does have that delicate, submissive look you used to go for."

At that, Thicknesse ordered him from the building, pointing to the fireplace with a shaking hand. Without looking at me, he added, somewhat more gently, "You'd better get back to work, too, Weasley."

I backed obediently out of the room, as Malfoy retrieved the old book from the floor and strutted to the Floo.


	7. Chapter 7 Truth

JK Rowling wrote all the wonderful Harry Potter books. She owns the rights to them.

THE JOURNAL OF PERCY I WEASLEY, MAY 1st 1998. 

I have made my decision. I will accept the Dark Mark. Gratefully. It is the only safe thing to do. I will do this without reservation, it is not something one can choose if one has any doubts. Having previously harboured some misgivings with regards to this course of action, I have come up with a quite brilliant plan!

I am going to go into my mind and remove every memory of a moment when I had an objection to becoming a Death Eater. This way I will always be able to convince myself - and anyone else who might be examining my thoughts - that I am thoroughly convinced of the rightness of this plan of action!

Last week I walked past a shop in Knockturn Alley which sells all the equipment I will need. I am on my way there now.

Mem 1, Quidditch World Cup campsite, afternoon, August 1994.

Cedric appeared between two tents and came running towards Percy.

"World Cup! Love it!" he shouted.

"Quite a spectacle," Percy agreed.

"You don't even like Quidditch," Cedric teased, pushing Percy's shoulder.

Percy chuckled. "Watching's different," he explained, "I always watched you playing at school."

The two lads strolled comfortably in the direction of the surrounding forest.

"How did the N.E.W.T.s go?" Cedric asked.

Percy nodded and blushed slightly. "Twelve."

"Clever bastard!" Cedric said in a friendly way.

"Your O.W.L.s?" Percy checked.

"Passed them all. And I'm going to be a Prefect and Quidditch captain!"

Percy beamed as though the achievements were his own, saying, "You should be very proud of yourself!"

Cedric stopped walking and leaned towards his companion, smiling shyly. "I am," he whispered conspiratorially. They both laughed.

Then Cedric started walking again and headed into the forest. Percy followed him.

"Did you get that Ministry job then?" the blond asked over his shoulder.

Percy nodded, adding, "Department of International Co-operation. It's pretty important."

Cedric slowed down just enough to let his companion catch up. "That Barty Crouch's office?" he checked.

Percy confirmed that he was right. They were a fair way into the trees now. Although they could still hear the bustle of the Magical families in the campsite, the only people they could see were each other. Cedric sat down on a fallen branch.

"Prefect, Head Boy, Ministry. A future of wealth and happiness! Exactly like you planned when we were kids," he said admiringly, as Percy sat beside him.

"Good times," Percy mused.

"Some of it," Cedric agreed. "You know, you're still the only person I've ever shared a bath with?"

There was a comfortable pause, then Percy said, "You were my first kiss."

"Not much of a kiss as I remember it. Wasn't it something like this?" Cedric put a hand to each of Percy's shoulders and pressed his dry lips briefly against his friend's. "You could have had a proper kiss if you'd given me those House Points back," He maintained eye contact and stroked one hand up Percy's neck and into his hair, murmuring, "like this."

Percy went rigid as their mouths met again. This time Cedric's lips were soft and they parted, his tongue pushing into Percy's mouth. Percy relaxed and then responded, clutching the other man's back, moving his own tongue. His eyes closed themselves.

Cedric ended the kiss and stood up. Percy's head sank into his hands and his breathing slowed.

"See you around," Cedric offered, casually, and began to walk back to the tents.

"I might …" Percy began breathlessly, lifting his head, "I might be back at the school … this year … for work."

Cedric turned his head but didn't break his stride. "I'll see you there then. Maybe make use of the Prefects' bathroom?"

He nonchalantly strolled away through the trees. Percy watched.

THE JOURNAL OF PERCY I WEASLEY, MAY 1st 1998. 

A most peculiar thing just happened. When I went to make my purchase, the shopkeeper asked, "What? Another one?"

When I informed him that I did not understand him, he chuckled knowingly.

"You've taken that memory out, then," he said. "You're not the first. You were in about two months back, bought the same thing, case full of vials, but that time it was the XL," he indicated a suitcase on display behind him. "You must have used it and hidden it somewhere with the memory of buying it locked inside."

He and I both regarded the sizeable case.

"Only so many places you could've put something that size," he commented, "unless you're living in one of them Manor Houses."

I did not bother to inform him of just how unlike a Manor my current residence is. Instead, I replaced the briefcase which I had been about to purchase before pointing out a flaw in his argument.

"If I removed the memory of the whole affair before hiding the case, then I would remember where I hid it," I reasoned, "However, if I hid the case before removing the memory, then what would I have …?"

"Maybe you destroyed that one," he interrupted, "I don't know, do I?" He returned to restocking his shelves.

This lead me to the realisation that I had no need to deposit the memories of my vacillations, that indeed, it would be better for me to destroy them outright, as he claimed I had already done to the recollections of my actions of some two months ago. It must be the stress of my situation which lead me to make such a planning error.

After writing this journal entry I had intended to start work immediately on cleansing my thoughts. It now occurs to me, however, that it might be a good idea to first search for this suitcase of memory vials which the shopkeeper claims must be hidden somewhere in the bedsit. If I find them, then I will view as many as I have time for tonight.

I am curious as to what I might have wanted to hide. For example, I cannot remember a single birthday from my childhood. I wonder why that should be so? I wonder if I have stored any advice from anyone wise? Minister Thicknesse has indicated that I was on friendly terms with my old Headmaster. I could do with some fatherly direction just now.

I must make sure I get enough sleep, though, because the Minister told me today that something Big is soon to happen and that he wants me to be seen to be working with him when it does. I look forward to such an opportunity to display my loyalty.

Un-numbered Memory, DESTROYED, The Grounds of Hogwarts School, February 1995.

Near the lake, Mr Crouch and Mr Bagman were in conference, Percy standing dutifully behind them, ready to assist his boss. Headmaster Dumbledore approached the two Heads of Ministry Departments and Percy was dismissed with several parchments to be posted.

He headed for the school owlery, walking through the grounds with his head held high. He wore smart, new robes and a self-satisfied smile. There were students milling around near the steps to the school, surrounding the Champions. He waved graciously to Ron as he passed him, standing with Harry and Hermione. The youngsters broke from their conversation to wave back.

Beyond them stood Cedric, talking to an oriental-looking girl. Percy sauntered towards them, his hand raised in greeting.

Cedric saw him. A look of panic crossed his face. He took the girl's arm and steered her firmly towards the steps. He kept his back towards Percy who was left, frozen, with one arm in the air.

THE JOURNAL OF PERCY I WEASLEY, MAY 2nd 1998. 

Haven't got much time, but don't know if I'll survive this so noting thoughts quickly before I go. Found suitcase under bed and viewed contents, took most of night and morning. Got into work late to hear there's a Battle going on at Hogwarts. Light v Dark. Minister already gone there. Wonder if other Weasleys involved? Feeling warm towards them, having got childhood memories back. Have decided - I'm not Death Eater material after all. And nobody's neutral any more. So, going in to fight for Potter etc. Here goes!


End file.
